In the first four years after my fevers I had learned that memories were tied to emotions and I could sometimes get lost memories back by concentrating on the emotion the lost memory left behind, I had learned to walk around the classroom and watch what other children were doing and mimic, I had learned to write my own spelling on paper, which I could read, to remember my thoughts about life and what it was about, I had learned to seek out the oldest most emotional person I could find for comfort in a crowd, I learned to track better playing marbles, I felt loved, and I was forever seeking meaning in life, what was it all about, how do I maneuver in my map to do the things I need to do, or to do what others did. That was my ticket to success. That was easy and fun with Grandma, but harder as I moved away from my protected environment. Then came Junior High School. I was eleven, a head shorter than anyone, immature, and all my crutches were gone. I was alone in a desert yet felt like a mouse being trampled by a herd of elephants. Nothing was the same, stay in your seat, don't look at others work, sit in the back of the room, don't ask endless questions.
Even a simple thing like, what is the layout of this three story building, was hard for me. I would get lost for months, what floor was I on. To this day if I go into a movie theater well aware of its position to the rest of the building when I come out I have no idea where I am. In Jr. High this happened every hour on the hour. And the halls were full of kids passing each other, like a can of worms. I could not look for familiar landmarks, what precious ones I could remember, too many kids. I would linger and wait for them to file into rooms, then I would run up and down the stairs until I remembered which floor, which hall, which desk. I had nightmares about halls until a few years ago, well, maybe I will again. I was always late.
But the real nightmare came when I entered my homeroom class and found my desk and sat down. This is the particular teacher that I would battle with. The battle would be not because he was cold hearted and mean, but because he was warm hearted and wanted to help, yet, and the yet is the kicker, yet he was firm with his rules. Yes, "stay in your seat, don't look at others work, sit in the back of the room, don't ask endless questions." So there I sat, alone, could not hear him as I had picked up reading lips and used it as a crutch to what was being said, I was in the back so I could not read his gestures, I could not ignore noises around me, I was ADHD from the fevers, and I was immature and felt like a complete failure. I could not make meaning of it all. I was the bomb that was going to go off, but as usual in a funny way.
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